Prejudged Robotics
by The What-If Writer
Summary: ONE-SHOT. One day, after witnessing a familiar fight, Thunderstick the robot has a talk with another younger member of his kind about the life of a bot, and how nothing's always sunshine and rainbows if your made of metal.


_I honestly don't excpet anyone to read this, but if ya do, please review._

_Happy New Year!_

_The robot called 'Thundah' is an OC of mine. More info about him can be found on my Deviant-art account along with art (Link in profile.)_

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Prejudged Robotics

No one really knew where the small robot had come from, and Thunderstick wasn't an exception.

He'd been in Tex Hex's gang for at least fifteen years now; Hadn't changed in appearance nor persona one little bit since the day he met the purple-skinned outlaw and his little Prairie sidekick Scuzz, who was now what he could call his friend.

But for a robot, especially with a mind of his own, things would change for him when he began 'socializing'. For the most of his vague early memories he'd been a loner. The reason for this was...he was a robot of course.

And something that hadn't changed either over the fifteen years he'd been with Tex's gang, or for centuries for that matter, was the fact that people were prejudice and didn't like those who were different from what they were used to.

Now Thunderstick wasn't a historian, but he knew that some people had a thing for going out of their way to get what they want, even if it meant guns, soldier bots and galactic contracts.

Thunderstick was a robot, and proud of it. He wasn't like those mindless chumps that hovered outside of service buildings or worked as tin workers , doing all of those jobs people couldn't be bothered doing on their own. And he sure as heck payed for it.

For years he'd been getting it. The names, the dismissive tones, the snide superior looks on organic folk's faces. And, as hard as it was to believe, he'd gotten used to it. The attacks he'd learned to fend of nicely.

And, more importantly right now, he'd learned to deal with it.

That's where these familiar thoughts came to mind- when that kid showed up out of the blue. Never under the Three Suns of New Texas had Thunderstick met such a wild little bot. It was really strange.

He just showed up in town with his chums one day, said pals being a diminutive Prairie kid and a red-haired human boy with his face all bandaged up like a mummy*

He'd been lounging in the saloon, gambling with Scuzz and some others when the trio of squirts waltzed in looking for someone. And all eyes had turned to the little robot tagging along with the two organic boys.

Thunderstick had been surprised. His eyes had morphed away from their zig-zag pattern into two dilated dots in shock. Yes, he'd seen small robots before. But none like this one.

You see, what was alarming about this little guy looked a bit like his model of bot. That is, the jaw and the eyes. The resemblance stopped there.

The top of his head sported long, springy metal dreadlocks. He wasn't kidding. Light blond ones, too. And his eyes remained dots all the time rather than his own zig-zag pattern. And, his feet were like little bricks. His clothing was just as crazy looking as him: Black poncho, bright yellow shirt and bright yellow bottoms? This kid clearly didn't think too much about clothes that go together.

Thunderstick had guess they had the same make of model...but apparently this kid (Well, he sure acted like some nine-year old...) used to be a farmhand.

Really?

Seriously?

The rest of the afternoon went in a blur of guns, arguments and threats. The man the trio had been looking for called for a fight in the old canyon and all three had quickly obliged.

The man invited alot of folk to come and see, an invite that Thunderstick and Scuzz accepted eagerly. Tex wouldn't have liked them slacking off from their 'keeping the town watched' scheduled, but he didn't have to know, right?

So they watched from the sidelines with some other outlaws and random bystanders, some taking bets and some just curious to see what happened.

The fight began between the man, his posse and the three boys. And chaos was imminent.

Turned out these tykes had a few really odd tricks up their sleeves. Literary in the case of his fellow bot. The boy had morphed his arms into axes, hammers, knives...even a weed hacker to boot. And he was nuts in battle, running around and hollering like he was on fire, clobbering his enemies like he was playing whack-a-mole.

It had actually been quiet funny and thus entertaining. He and Scuzz had laughed out loud at the spectacle, so much they doubled over.

The fight ended and the man and his posse had lost. A murmur of dissapointment, surprise and confusing rippled through the crowd. Scuzz didn't seem to understand why, but Thunderstick thought about it. Guess the crowd didn't expect then to live.

"Say, Thunderstick!" A hacking cough cut the small guy off. Thunderstick titled his lead as he looked down at him.

"Yeah?"

"Why-cough-folk not happy?" Another wheeze, "They can't gamble if there ain't-cough-two sides!"

As his small friend broke off in his usual coughing fit, Thunderstick thought over what he said with his eyes looking up to the side, his only motion that resembled a raised brow.

"Hm, gotta poi-point d'ere, lil fella." He admitted after a moment, "Guess they were bet-bettin' on which kid would d-die first."

Said kids and the man's posse were still standing opposite each other, exchanging silent glares. The trio of shorties seemed to be waiting for their defeated enemy to walk away.

As the tallish man finally got to his feet (he'd suffered from a very hilarious boot to the face, something that Thunderstick would find funny for the rest of this life) he turned around and began storming away. A shift went through the crowd. It was that familiar time were folk began breaking up and leaving, and Thunderstick was about to move away from where he was standing with Scuzz when the man stopped suddenly.

Everything went quiet.

The man, with a dangerous glint in his eyes, turned back to the bandaged face of the red haired boy. His little robot friend exchanged looks with the prairie boy, who's face and hair was obscured by a pilot hat and goggles.

"Y'all little brats tink your so powerful, huh?" The man demanded darkly, turning back to face them. His party glowered at them a few feet behind.

"Yeah!" The red-haired boy retorted curtly, "We do!"

"Yup!"

A robotic yet life-like voice called out, surprising the crowd. Apart from the war cries and insults, the small robot kid hadn't said anything until now. Said little bot was watching his enemy with an intense, blank stare.

A snide, familiarly sly look came over the man's face. Thunderstick folded his arms and lowered his head just a little, jaw closed shut. He knew more than anyone else could what was coming next.

"I ain't taken orders from a soulless lil' tin can."

It wasn't the 'tin can' that seemed to bother the kid. Come on, you had to have been called that once in your live if you were a robot. But soulless?

The kid's jaw lowered notably and his head bent, and a hurt look came into his eyes. Thunderstick was the only one who saw it, though. Being a robot with limited facial looks himself, he knew how to see a look on a bot. And on this kid, it was hurt.

"Don't call him that." The red-haired boy spoke slowly, carefully. The crowd froze at this tone.

Tension, going up...

"You ain't nothin!" The man pressed on, pointed a crooked finger the metal boy's way. The kid stepped back, looking more jaw opened and closed, but no words came as he clenched his fist.

Thunderstick watched with growing unease. Why was he bothering about this kid, anyway?

"You shuddup!" The metalic voice of the kid in question called back. The man looked startled, as if he'd jsut seen a ghost giving him an order. Then, he scowled.

"I says before, no lifeless little scrap is gonna tell me what ta do!"

He reached for his gun, as did his posse. Then, a gunshot went up in the air and the crowd jumped, and in Scuzz's case, literary. But the gunshot wasn't from the outlaw's.

It was some guy from town and, by the way he was dressed, he was no outlaw. But he was pretty touch looking and was surrounded by others like him.

Do-gooders.

"All right." The new guy stated, "I think the show's over, folks!"

"Really?" The outlaw man drawled, hand still placed on his weapon. The do-gooders closed in, standing between the pack of outlaws and the three boys. The robot kid was trembling with fury. Thunderstick, involuntary, began moving around the crowd a little so he was closer. Maybe he had wanted to tell the kid from the sidelines not to bother with it; after all, if you couldn't handle some petty insults as a bot, you were dead for sure.

The do-gooders, however, seemed to have broken up the fight and the crowd watching began to relax. Until the outlaw, as he turned to leave, added:

"Fine. Those little brats and their live-less bot can rot for all I care..."

What happened next was expected, and Thunderstick knew from the sly look on the man's face that he had meant for it to happen. He was really starting to hate that guy.

"I'm gonna tear ya to shreds, squish-face!" The so-called farmhand bot ran forward towards the man, swinging a hammer as he did so. The do-gooders were too surprised to stop him, as were the crowd. Thunderstick himself froze for a moment.

The kid's blow didn't land, however, and his friends called out in distress as he was kicked in the abdomen and flung backwards, landing at Thunderstick's feet. The larger bot could see a few dents and wires damaged. This wasn't getting the kid anywhere.

With a frown in his eyes, Thunderstick reached forward just as the boy got up and was about to run back at the outlaw, wrapping an arm around the kid's shoulder and under his arm to catch him. He hoisted the struggling tyke off the ground and stepped back, holding the kid against his chest as he kicked out towards the outlaw.

Though his protests were furious, anyone with a brain could detect the distress in his tones.

Despite the kid's struggles, and despite the fight between his two friends and the posse broke out again, Thunderstick held fast.

"I gotcha, lil' guy." Thunderstick said quietly. His voice held no malice, no threat. It was plain, and in a way, understanding. Heck, how couldn't it be?

The boy didn't seem to be listening. His arms had dropped and he was no longer struggling as the older robot carried him away from the fight. Thunderstick could hear small, metallic sobs coming from him. (though no tears were present. Wonder who made such a robot that could make an action.)

The kid was actually holding onto the arm that held him now, optic-eyes screed shut and head bent. Guess the kid needed a little bit of comfort from someone and though it bit a great big junk of his outlaw pride away, Thunderstick let him.

Boy, lucky no-one was around.

They part of the canyon they were now in wasn't too far from the fight, but far away enough so the kid wouldn't feel into it anymore. Thunderstick stopped finally and lowered the kid back onto his feet. The smaller robot's hands were clenched and his head was beant, staring dejectedly at the desert floor.

Thunderstick straightened up to his full height and look down at him quietly for a moment. Then, he spoke:

"Lo-look here, little mite." He said, folding his arms as he did so, "I dunno were you ca-came from, but you gotta know a few th-things."

The boy stared up at him uncertainly. Thunderstick shook his head and went on.

"Life for a bo-bot ain't pretty, Be-believe me, I should know." He stopped for a moment as the kid looked back at the floor, saying nothing. Thunderstick sighed. and began wondering why he was bothered.

Simple. He knew how the kids was feeling. Boy, he was turning into a sissy. Why was he doing this?

He shook his head yet again. Might as well get the sissy talk over with...

His knelt down in front of the kid so they were at eye-level. The boy's head lifted slowly and his hurt-filled eyes met his own zig-zag gaze doubtfully. Obviously he didn't expect words from a stranger.

"Take it fr-from me, lil fella." He said with rare sincerity in his tone as he remembered all of the times he'd been that angry and bitter, "Things ain't ever gonna get betta fo-for us. Organics can learn ta treat different organics ri-right. But it ain't gonna happen for us."

A sad, unhappy look came into the kids eyes, and his head lowered dejectedly again. Thunderstick soften his firm tone just a little. Yup, total mirror of himself a few decades ago (he was taller, though. He hadn't ever been a kid like him, he didn't reckon.)

With his gloved hand he lifted the kid's jaw up so he was looking at him again.

"But dat don't me-mean nothing. People are gonna say stuff ta you. Ma-maybe even try to hurt ya. But ya g-gotta get through it. Ya hafta deal with it."

"But..."

The kid's voice was tiny, barely audible. Thunderstick shook his head. "No 'bu-buts' kid. Things ain't gonna get betta, but you can't let what dey s-say get ta ya like it did back dere."

He looked the kid square in the eye, more serious than he'd been in years. "Now listen up, c-close, sonny. I know its hard and they things they s-ay will make you more me-mad every time, but you g-gotta know when ya can fight and when its time ta ju-just walk away."

he boy glanced at Thunderstick's lazer cannon. The older bot's eyes lit up in a smug smirk.

"Like ma gun?"

"Do you use that on people like him?" The small, heartbreakingly timid tone asked again. To think this kid was hyper with excitement of a fight earlier...

"Yup. But n-not all tha' time, dats what I mean. Ya can't fight every time."

"Why not?" The kid's voice hardened, a confused look in his optics. Thunderstick shook his head again.

"Cuz' th-thats what dey want. Ta geta rise outa you. When they do, they've won. Dealing with it, sayin' "I don't care what ya th-think!" beats 'em."

The boy blinked silently. Had he been a human, his lip surely would have trembled. Thunderstick sighed.

"Now you listen t-to ole' Thunderstick. Yer betta than that old sissy back dere. He's just an-angry that ya kicked his behind."

The kid laughed a little. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of the two sharing an understanding look, a smile lit up his bright little eyes. Thunderstick allowed a friendlier look into his robot eyes and he ruffled the hair-like tendrils on the kid's head.

"You'll be okay, s-sonny. Look after youself, 'kay?"

The boy nodded. "I'll be seeing ya, mister."

Thunderstick watched as the kid darted past him back towards the way they came, probably to find his chumcs. Thunderstick placed his hand on his hip, feeling quiet pleased with himself.

"Hey, Mister!"

"Wha?" The kid had stopped just by the corner. He was waving, looking just as hyper as he'd been earlier on. Thunderstick chuckled at that.

"Thanks!"

"Don't mention it, ya lil' tyke. A-and D-don't tell anyone we had dis conversation!" He called after him. The kid laughed in a nutty manner.

"I wo-on't!"

"Yeah, c-cuz I gotta reputation!"

The kid vanished around the corner after that. Thundersick turned around and began walking the other way. He'd meet up with Scuzz back at the saloon. That's probably where the little guy would've went after the fight broke out.

He did hope the kid didn't tell anyone about the moment of kindness he'd given. Heck, it was a robot thing. He didn't expect Scuzz would understand. And Tex...

He shuddered as he strolled off.

Let's just say they'd all be better off if he didn't hear about him turning into a sissy for a few moments...

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